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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24471100">John and Paul Introduce The McSéamus to Your Mum</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveofahand/pseuds/waveofahand'>waveofahand</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dating Paul McCartney [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>McLennon - Fandom, The Beatles (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU Texting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dating Paul McCartney, F/M, M/M, Quarantine, The McSéamus, alternative universe, crotch shots, frottage interruptus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:07:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,719</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24471100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveofahand/pseuds/waveofahand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>First Paul is stuck being harangued by John, and then by your mother. There's a zoom meeting and then some phones get mixed up and suddenly there is far too much texting for the likes of Paul to handle. It's crack. It's McLennon meets Dating Paul McCartney and Mum (who used to be a nun) gets the shock of her life. Or maybe not.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Lennon &amp; Paul McCartney, John Lennon/Paul McCartney, Paul McCartney/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dating Paul McCartney [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646920</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>John and Paul Introduce The McSéamus to Your Mum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I know that the last chapter of <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22090831/chapters/52720513">Carry that Weight</a> was really hard and sad to read, so to make it up to you I hope to make you laugh with this new installment of the series. </p><p>To really understand what is going on in the second half of the story and all the referencies to The McSeamus on Parade, it is wise to read <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23095096">this very short story</a>. </p><p>I apologize to everyone for this, including the real and fictitious people in the story. But someone sent me an image, and I couldn't help myself. I'm probably going to hell. Forgive me.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/><br/>You’re listening to Paul, once again on the phone with John, who has been <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157885">calling him several times a day, every day of the lockdown</a>, and always in a grumpy mood. Paul, as usual, is trying to talk him off the ledge.</p><p>“Johnny, come on. We’ll be seein’ each other soon enough and back at rehearsals. Yes, I know you believe the band is a transcendent unit and if it’s just us in studio no one could possibly get sick, but the whole studio is closed… no, no, look, love, we can’t very well lay down vocals wearin’ face masks, now, can we? Well… yes, but you know… really, maybe we should face the fact that right now the Beatles at work is not really considered ‘essential’…”</p><p>You see him pull the phone from his ear as John launches into his loudest tirade yet. He notes you tapping your foot at him and gives you an apologetic look, putting his hand over his mouthpiece. “Baby, I know… I know…”<br/><br/>“Just <em>hang up</em> on him.”</p><p>He sighs, and you know he can’t do it. He’s already explained it to you, but you still don’t like it.</p><p>“Can you get me a drink? <em>Please</em>?” He bats his eyes at you and you roll yours. At yourself. Because once again, his little tactic worked. Damn those eyes.</p><p>“Tea?”</p><p>John is still blaring through the phone and you can hear every filthy word. Paul looks at the phone helplessly, then at you. “Scotch and Coke? Please?”</p><p>“Alright, I’ll do it. But I want hugs and kisses for it.”</p><p>He doesn’t seem to have heard you, as he’s yelling back at John. “How is all of this <em>my</em> fault? When we can finally play again, will that be to my credit, then?”</p><p>He’s listening, but as you return with his drink you can see his patience is worn out. “Thank you,” he murmurs, downing half the drink in a go. He tries to pull you into his lap, but you’re having none of it. “Not while you’re on the phone with John! <em>You</em> might have to listen to that madman but I don’t.”</p><p>He pulls a <em>moue</em> on you. Those pouts usually work, too, but not this time. You’ve scheduled a Zoom meet-up with friends from uni, and so you take the laptop into the kitchen, away from loud John and grabby Paul.</p><p>Ten minutes later, Paul comes in humming a bit, making himself another drink. That done, he ducks down as he passes, growling and biting at your neck before lifting his head and smiling into the camera. “Evenin’ all! I hope you know you’re interrupting playtime!”</p><p>All of your friends scream. He laughs, gives you a big, noisy kiss on the cheek and strolls away.</p><p>You’re blushing. You’re in heaven. Paul just kissed you in front of all of your friends. “He’s such an idiot,” you tell them.</p><p>“Hey, he’s actually super fucking hot, though,” one of them says. “If you don’t want him…”</p><p>“Oh, sod off!”</p><p>Later, he strolls by to make his <em>third</em> drink and pulls a sashay as he walks away. You know it’s deliberate. Your friends know it, too, and they’re groaning. Your oldest friend – the one with the biggest mouth – loudly threatens to “grab onto that glorious arse with both hands and let it rock my world!”</p><p>You hear Paul laugh from the other room. <em>Bastard</em>.</p><p>A few minutes later, he’s back, your phone vibrating in his hand. “Your mum.”</p><p>“Just tell her I’ll call her back, please?”</p><p>He puts the phone to his ear. “Hallo, Mum! Your darling is too busy to talk to you just now, so you’re stuck with me, again, alright? Yes, I know, you’ve raised a spoilt child. So, how are you?” He’s leaving again.</p><p>“He calls your mother, ‘Mum’? That’s so cute!”</p><p>“Yes.” You roll your eyes. “They’ve never met but they talk almost every day on the phone. I think she likes him more than me!”</p><p>“Who <em>wouldn’t?”</em> That’s your oldest friend, again.</p><p>Paul is done chatting up your mum when your meet-up ends. As you approach him, he holds his drink up before his face, which a smile. It looks fresh.</p><p>“What is that, four drinks? In an <em>hour?”</em></p><p>“Was bored, wasn’t I? You left me all alone. Oh, and your mum says to text her because she’s watching some stream? Streamy thing, yeah?”</p><p>“A <em>live stream?”</em> You ask, still charmed by how that concept eludes him.</p><p>“Aye, that. Thingy.” He pats his thigh. “Come here, baby, sit on my lap. Let me give pay off those hugs and kisses, boss.”</p><p>“Well,” you smile as you lean over him, a hand on each armrest, “I’m glad you finally know who’s boss around here.” You dip in for a greedy kiss.  </p><p>“Mmm,” he moans appreciatively. “For today, anyway. Think yer mum was flirtin’ with me, by the way.”</p><p>“I’m sure you started it,” you moan back. You feel his hands at your hips, encouraging you to straddle him, and you’re all for it.</p><p>He is too, until it seems you’ve struck his bladder.</p><p>“Oof! Wait, <em>wait</em>, love.” He gives your backside a little slap. “Maybe let me do the loo before we start anythin’ yeah?”</p><p>“Unfair!," you complain. "This is <em>frottage interruptus!</em>” </p><p>“Never mix your French and Latin, sweetie,” he counsels, giving your cheek a stroke as he leaves. “That's how wars get started.”</p><p>Once again, the lines of distinction are clear. You might be the boss but he’s still the daddy.</p><p>His phone is vibrating. It’s John again, texting. Thinking it's a chance to tell him off, you pick it up.</p><p>LENNONY: There’s nothing on the bleedin’ television. I’m so bored!</p><p>MACPHONY: There is some live streaming thingy my mum is watching. Try that.</p><p>LENNONY: …</p><p>LENNONY: … Paul? You alright? Are you having a stroke?</p><p>MACPHONY: Sorry, it’s me. You’ve driven him to drink with all your calls and he’s having a pee.</p><p>LENNONY: Oh. Hi.</p><p>MACPHONY: “Hi?” That’s it? Come on, amaze me. You’re the great John Lennon. You have a million words for Paul. Got nothing to say to me?</p><p>LENNONY: Who IS this?</p><p>MACPHONY: Well, there IS a lockdown, so take a guess, genius!</p><p>LENNONY: Oh, aye, you’re the fresh one, aren’t you?</p><p>MACPHONY: …</p><p>MACPHONY: … The <em>what</em> now? As opposed to <em>who</em>, now?</p><p>LENNONY: Oh! Jealous! Well, don’t worry your arse. Kismet popper quit you.</p><p>LENNONY: FUCKING AUTO CORRECT. I mean, "I do think he’s smitten proper with you". Have we met, by the way/</p><p>MACPHONY: What… *&amp;%$^! I’ve cooked for you!</p><p>LENNONY: Oh, it’s you. LOL Just funning with you, doll.</p><p>MACPHONY: I’m not your doll. And why can’t you leave Paul alone? I’m always waiting for him to finish with you.</p><p>LENNONY: You’ll be waiting a long time, then, brat, because he’s never finished with me.</p><p>MACPHONY: As if you’d let him be…</p><p>LENNONY: What’s that supposed to meat, hey?</p><p>*******</p><p>Paul walks in, sees you furiously texting on his phone, using both thumbs – another thing that he can’t get the hang of.</p><p>“Who you chatting with, baby?”</p><p>“No one. An idiot.”</p><p>Your phone vibrates and Paul goes for it.</p><p>“It’s your mum,” he says.</p><p>“Sorry, you answer it, please?”</p><p>“I just talked to her!”</p><p>“She likes you better than me, anyway.”</p><p>“Maybe because I’m <em>nice</em> to her?”</p><p>You give him a glare and he chuckles. “Peace, boss, okay.” He begins to answer your mother’s text. Using one finger.</p><p>POLSTOY: Hey mum it’s me again. Your terrible offspring is buys teats ting someone else.</p><p>MUMSTORY: … who is this?</p><p>POLSTOY: Sorry. Tis Paul. Again. I think your wee brat is testing my partner. Why does this keep maiming strange words on me? And what’s Polstory? Shouldn’t that be Tolstoy? This thing is detective.</p><p>MUMSTORY: LOL I think you mean 'defective', dear, but it's not. It's just autocorrect. And it's Polstoy, not Polstory and I think it means my child has surrendered to be your TOY.</p><p>MUMSTORY: As a mother, I am offended. As your friend, I suggest you find it flattering, or something. And be appreciative.</p><p>POLSTOY: Oh, I get it. It's like a Liver puddle “POL^ for Paul. Cute! Yer id is clever.</p><p>POLSTOY: Also, your KID, dammit. And what is MumStory about.</p><p>MUMSTORY: From The Nun’s Story. Audrey Hepburn movie. I once tried to be a nun but it didn’t take. Surely, you’ve heard about that?</p><p>POLSTOY: Um… Didn’t even know you war Catholic.</p><p>MUMSTORY: So, you’re telling me my child besides being your sex toy, is a heathen. I knew it. But I suppose I’ve become one, lately.</p><p>“Yer Mum says you’re a heathen, love."<br/><br/>"Of course she would."</p><p>"You never told me she was a nun!” Paul settles into another chair, intently carrying on his one-fingered conversation with your mother. Who once tried to be a nun. You really wish she’d stop telling people about that. You sigh and take it out on Lennon.</p><p>********</p><p>MACPHONY: Just great. Now he’s texting my mum. With one finger. Between you and her I never get a moment with him.</p><p>LENNONY: He’s sexing your mum, you say? With one finger? Lazy sod.</p><p>MACPHONY: TEXTING</p><p>LENNONY: HE’s EXITING your mum? I must say that’s fast for him.</p><p>MACPHONY: OMG You’re obnoxious!</p><p>LENNONY: I can’t help it. I’m a truthteller. If you’re going to keep shagging with my lad you may as well know the truth.</p><p>MACPHONY: <em>Your</em> lad?</p><p>
  
</p><p>LENNONY: It's a may off speaking. Oh, and don’t do that narrow eyes cheap emoticon stuff with me. How old are you?</p><p>MACPHONY: How old are YOU?</p><p>LENNONY: Old enough to know that the boy can’t help himself. And you should know that too.</p><p>MACPHONY:</p><p>
  
</p><p>LENNONY: Well, that’s better, at least. Cowboy Whatsits?</p><p>MACPHONY: What is it I should know, John? What do you mean he can’t help himself?</p><p>LENNONY: Well you tell me. He told me everything, you know, uproot when you nailed him re <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23095096">all the times he’s been photographed with… whaddya called it now…</a></p><p>LENNONY: Uproot = about dammit. About you helling about his boy parts showin; up all around.</p><p>Suddenly, with a feeling of deep existential dread, you believe you know where this conversation is going.</p><p>And you wish it would not.</p><p>LENNONY: Happy! That was it. A vaulting of happy or something?</p><p>MACPHONY: Shit. He told you about that?</p><p>LENNONY: Something V, I know.</p><p>MACPHONY: A given VALUE of Happy?</p><p>LENNONY: Yeah, what I said. Value. </p><p>MACPHONY: Sure, John.</p><p>LENNONY: What the fuck does it even mean. Were you being modern? Ironic? What’s a given value of happy? Who is ever happy? How can my value of happy be yours? No one is happy. There is no value of happy.</p><p>MACPHONY: Paul is happy.</p><p>LENNONY: Mostly.</p><p>MACPHONY: He’s happy when he’s around ME anyway.</p><p>LENNONY: And ME. And me fist.<br/><br/>LENNONY: I mean FIRST. Me first!</p><p>MACPHONY: Except when you’re yelling at him.</p><p>LENNONY: Oh, he loves that, too. You just don’t get him.</p><p>MACPHONY: How can I when you never lengthen his leash?</p><p>LENNONY: I’m not his keeper! Sod off, you ickle pump.</p><p>MACPHONY: Don’t you DARE call me a PUMP!  </p><p>LENNONY: FUCK! meant <em>ickle PUP</em>. Was a joke. You humorless… hangnail.</p><p>MACPHONY: Oh. Alright then.</p><p>LENNONY: i meant bangnail. Is he still talking to your mother?</p><p>MACPHONY: Unbelievably, yes. And slow as a snail.</p><p>LENNONY: They love him you know. All the mothers love Paul. Ringo’s mum calls him her ‘wee son’. And Ringo his truly a wee son! Says it makes him feel even smaller, because she never calls HIM that.</p><p>MACPHONY: LOL That’s cute! I love that mothers love him.</p><p>LENNONY: Well, he flirts with ‘em you know.</p><p>MACPHONY: I KNEW IT!</p><p>LENNONY: Sure, yer mam’s likely jonesing for him. Wouldn’t be surprised if he makes her a whatsit? A given value of happy.</p><p>MACPHONY: That’s disgusting! My mum was almost a nun, you know!</p><p>LENNONY: Well, she had an epic fail then, dint she? Given you’re here botherin’ Paul all the time.</p><p>MACPHONY: I don’t bother him. I make him happy.</p><p>LENNONY: Yeah, about that, alls I meant to say is that the lad is like a pilot light.</p><p>MACPHONY: What’s that supposed to mean?</p><p>*********</p><p>MUMSTORY: And there just came that moment when Mother Superior jumped the gun and blamed me for breaking silence when it was those two giggling morons and I said, “enough of this…”</p><p>POLSTOY: Wales out dined you?</p><p>MUMSTORY: … I… what does that mean?</p><p>POLSTOY: Sorry. Walked out, dined you?</p><p>POLSTOY: BOLLOCKS. Sorry.</p><p>POLSTOY: And sorry for Bollocks.</p><p>MUMSTORY: You really ARE adorable, aren't you? Yes, I walked out. And in fact, did DINE.</p><p>POLSTOY: And then you met a man at dinner?</p><p>MUMSTORY: Between you and me I HAD a man for dinner. Yes.</p><p>POLSTOY: …</p><p>POLSTOY: …</p><p>POLSTOY: So… really not a good nun you’d have been aye?</p><p>MUMSTORY: Dreadful. But, of course if I hadn’t had a good dinner… several courses, in fact, you’d be quarantined all alone, now, wouldn’t you, instead of amusing yourself with my child… Paul’s… TOY?</p><p>POLSTOY: Holy shite.</p><p>POLSTOY: But you knoll I’m nut just playing aground. I like yer kid. A lot.</p><p>MUMSTORY: I think you likely do. As a mother, though, I’d be happier to hear you say the other L-word.</p><p>POLSTOY: …</p><p>POLSTOY: …</p><p>POLSTOY: … Liver?</p><p>POLSTOY: ... Lickety?</p><p>MUMSTORY: Don’t even say lickety split!</p><p>POLSTOY: No, that would be filthy.</p><p>POLSTOY: Lugubrious?</p><p>MUMSTORY: My child is not lugubrious. Nor, hopefully lascivious. </p><p>You hear Paul groan and look up in time to see him fold over, his head in his hand, groaning, “I need another drink.”</p><p>**********</p><p>MACPHONY: He wants another drink. My mother is driving him to drink, too.</p><p>LENNONY: She’s proverbs just said something bawdy to him. They all do, the mams.</p><p>MACPHONY: My mum would never!</p><p>LENNONY: You’d be surprised. Pretty sure Her Maj the Queen would have him if she could.</p><p>MACPHONY: Well, I’m sure he’d never have her!</p><p>LENNONY: Ah, but he’s a loyal lad, you know. Very patriotic. And he won a prize, once, when he was a kid for writing a mash note about her.</p><p>MACPHONY: You're such a liar.</p><p>LENNONY: Ask him yourself, you big lip. If the call came, he might answer with a swift salute if he's feelin' ripe. </p><p>MACPHONY: Yeah, right. As if she’d light his fire.</p><p>LENNONY: It’s what I said, love. He’s got a pilot light on the thing. It’s always there, half triggered and on the ready. SEE?</p><p>LENNONY:</p><p>
  
</p><p>MACPHONY: What the hell is that? Why are you sending me a shot of your crotch? You’re such a perv, I’m telling Paul.</p><p>LENNONY: Darlin’ that IS Paul. I’m just showing you. Pilot light.</p><p>MACPHONY: …</p><p>MACPHONY: Should have recognized him</p><p>LENNONY: Aye, you should.</p><p>MACHPONY: And his thighs.</p><p>LENNONY: Indeed! Who ever could forget his thighs, then?</p><p>MACPHONY: Wait, what?</p><p>LENNONY: What?</p><p>MACPHONY: When was this taken?</p><p>LENNONY: I forget. California? I was pushing him into the drool.</p><p>MACPHONY: You were pushing him into a pool?</p><p>LENNONY: YYYESSSS?</p><p>MACPHONY: Why is this picture on your phone, anyway?</p><p>LENNONY: …</p><p>LENNONY: …</p><p>LENNONY: Ringo sent it to me. He took it. Great one for the camera, is Rings.</p><p>MACPHONY: Ringo sent you a crotch shot of Paul?</p><p>LENNONY: Well…</p><p>MACPHONY: What is WRONG with you guys? When this lockdown is done, I’m not letting ANY of you near Paul!</p><p>LENNONY: No, but listen.</p><p>LENNONY: I did it for you!</p><p>MACPHONY: … I’d heard you were a better liar than that.</p><p>LENNONY: No, really puss. For your collection. For all those “validation of happy” pics you have. It’s another rone to show Paulie!</p><p>MACPHONY: I still can’t believe he told you about that.</p><p>LENNONY: There’s not much he doesn’t tell me, you know. WE’re very dear old friends.</p><p>MACPHONY: … I know.</p><p>LENNONY: So yeah, send that one to him and ask him why he can’t belhave! I bet you’ll end up making a good night of it!</p><p>LENNONY: All the cook talk.</p><p>LENNONY: Fuckin... COCK TALK I MEANT COCK TAKE!</p><p>MACPHONY: LOL God, you're pathetic. But yeah, I’ll scold him! Good idea!</p><p>***********</p><p>POLSTOY: Well, I’m very happy to kno w that you approve of us being together any load.</p><p>MUMSTORY: Well, I was young and lusty once.</p><p>***********</p><p>
  <strong>MACPHONY Texting POLSTOY:</strong>
</p><p>MACPHONY: Care to explain this?</p><p>
  
</p><p>POLSTOY: WT F IS THAT?</p><p>MACPHONY: From what I understand, it’s what John calls your "pilot light"?</p><p>POLSTOY: My what?</p><p>MACPHONY: IS that the problem? You’re always lit? Is that why <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23095096">my collection of your McSeamus on Parade</a> is growing by leaps and bounds?</p><p>POLSTOY: .... I...</p><p>POLSTOY: ... guess so&gt;?..</p><p>****</p><p>Paul is terrible at technical things. You’re quite aware of it.<br/><br/>So, what happens next is on you.<br/><br/>You should have realized that if you texted him that picture while he was texting your mother, he would get flustered and do this:<br/><br/>*******</p><p>
  <strong>POLSTOY to MUMSTORY:</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>************</strong>
</p><p>MUMSTORY: Good God! What in heaven's name is that?</p><p>POLSTOY: AHHHHG!</p><p>POLSTOY: Oh my god I sm sorry! I was just, I don’t know what id did! I don’t know why yer kid sent it to me.</p><p>POLSTOY: Forwarded from John! Wait, from JOHN? </p><p>MUMSTORY: </p><p>   <br/><br/>*******</p><p><strong>POLSTOY to LENNONY:</strong> John! What the help! WHY are you sending my lover pictures of… well, who is that?</p><p>LENNONY: Who is this?</p><p>POLSTOY: It's ME!</p><p>LENNONY: You're very right! It’s YOU Sweetie, as always, and one of my favorite pics!</p><p>POLSTOY: ... John</p><p>LENNONY: Nice handle, that is! And I like the nickname, <em>Polstoy</em>, too! I might grab on to that, myself. Also the nickname!</p><p>POLSTOY: WHY? And youre a flitty pig! WHY?</p><p>LENNONY: Why do you ask me why I do things, babe? We were discussing your happiness!</p><p>POLSTOY: Oh. My. Gear.</p><p>LENNONY: Yes, I’ve always liked it, your gear.</p><p>POLSTLY: SHUT UP. Can anyone see this conversation? Have I accidently linked us into the universe or something?</p><p>LENNONY: Of course not.</p><p>LENNONY: Tho I imagine Polstoy will see it.</p><p>POLSTOY: WHAT?</p><p>LENNONY: Oh, no. That would be bad, wouldn’t it?</p><p>POLSTOY: WHAT?</p><p>********</p><p><strong>MUMSTORY to POLSTOY:</strong> I would like to speak to my child.</p><p>POLSTOY: I am so, so sorry.</p><p>MUMSTORY: May I ask just whose bits and pieces I’m looking at here?</p><p>POLSTOY: …</p><p>POLSTOY: …</p><p>POLSTOY: …</p><p>POLSTOY: ... No</p><p>MUMSTORY: I understand. Please hand the phone to the fruit of MY loins, Paul. While I am still capable of reason after looking at…  What I presume to be YOURS?</p><p>********</p><p>Paul comes over to where you are. He is biting his lip. His eyes are wide with worry. “Should have maybe waited to forward John’s pic to me, love…”</p><p>“Well, it was John’s picture of <em>you</em>, you mean.”</p><p>“Yeah, whatever. Yer mum’s not best pleased.”</p><p>
  <em>“What?”</em>
</p><p>“I did something wrong.”</p><p>"Idiot!" You grab your phone from his hand, and shove his into his hand as you start scanning.</p><p>“Oh, no…”</p><p>“Oh, yes…”</p><p>“Oh, Paul.... Oh, no…”</p><p>*********</p><p><strong>MACPHONY to LENNONY:</strong> Well now you’ve done it, pet. It’s me by the why!</p><p>LENNONY: Hey, you! Wha’d I do?</p><p>MACPHONY: I don’t now what happened. One minute I was ttexing tand then it’s like the world shifted or magic happened and … the pic got forward.</p><p>LENNONY: No…</p><p>MACPHONY: Yeah.</p><p>LENNONY: To whom/</p><p>MACPHONY: The mum.</p><p>LENNONY: NO!</p><p>MACPHONY: This is bad.</p><p>LENNONY: Well… yeah it is...  but it’s a lockdown you know. Not likely to be thrown out, are you?</p><p>MACPHONY: No… Maybe just murdered? Beaten?</p><p>LENNONY: Hey, maybe you’ll get off with <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157885">a few whacks of the spankula</a>. There’s worse things.</p><p>MACPHONY: SHURRUP John! This is bad! An d anyway what were you two doing, talking about my… my </p><p>LENNONY: Yer ding dong. You can say it.</p><p>MACPHONY: I don’t applicate the both of you sharing notes on my… my… and how did this even come up?</p><p>LENNONY: Well it comes up very well indeed, and all the time, doesn't it? And there’s a whole collection of these pics to prove THAT now, innt there? Cameras don’t lie, love. At least not yet.</p><p>MACPHONY: How did you even have such a shot to share?</p><p>LENNONY: …</p><p>LENNONY: ...</p><p>LENNONY: I think Rings took it.</p><p>**********</p><p><strong>MUMSTORY to POLSTOY:</strong> So, that’s quite a picture you people are bouncing around there. Are you proud of yourselves?</p><p>POLSTOY: Mum… sorry.</p><p>MUMSTORY: He’s quite the young man, isn’t he?</p><p>POLSTOY: Mum, don’t blame Paul. He's a bean!</p><p>MUMSTORY: Oh, really? Seems more like a STALK to me!</p><p>POLSTOY: MUM! EW! </p><p><br/><br/>POLSTOY: He’s an little bit of an idiot with technology sometimes, is all.<br/><br/>POLSTOY: He doesn’t know how to use a phone. It’s like he’s from 1965 or something.  </p><p>MUMSTORY: I’m sure he didn’t mean to send me a… a… is that what they call FIRECROTCH?<br/><br/>POLSTOY: Mum!</p><p>MUMSTORY: Or is that a <em>dummy thicc?</em> Which what is that, like a pacifier? A binky?</p><p>POLSTOY: MUM!</p><p>MUMSTORY: Well, I try to keep up, darling, but the language is always changing!</p><p>POLSTOY: It’s just a crotch shot, okay? And not even bad, really. I mean, he’s covered and all. And… you know…</p><p>MUMSTORY: And this was sent to you by John WHY?</p><p>POLSTOY: A long story.</p><p>MUMSTORY: I have all day.</p><p>POLSTOY: It doesn’t matter. It’s just… it’s like a joke. Like, Paul has a pilot light down there, keeps him…</p><p>POLSTOY: I can’t believe I'm telling you this. And you're listening!</p><p>MUMSTORY: You mean he’s always ready?</p><p>POLSTOY: …</p><p>MUMSTORY: I did say he was 'quite the young man', dear.</p><p>POLSTOY: Mum, we should not be having this conversation. And YOU should go to confession or something.</p><p>MUMSTORY: You're one to talk. But… I’m sorry I am looking at this, and I had to enlarge it, you know. Because my eyes are going.</p><p>POLSTOY: Sure they are.</p><p>MUMSTORY: Well they are! But then once I got a good look… doesn’t it seem like… well.. my dear, doesn’t it look like he must be <em>going commando</em> in those jeans?</p><p>POLSTOY: MUM! EW!</p><p>MUMSTORY: I’m just saying!</p><p>POLSTOY: HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT IS? UGH! UGH!</p><p>MUMSTORY: So...</p><p>POLSTOY: What? I'm hanging up. I need to go throw up!</p><p>MUMSTORY: ... you <em>will</em> introduce me to him after the lockdown is done, yes?</p><p>Next time Paul went to make himself a drink… he brought one for you, too.</p><p>Then he gathered you sideways into his lap, and the two of you just stared straight ahead, sipping your drinks,completely mortified, traumatized and silent.</p>
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